


Iberian Heat

by Introverted_Chaos



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Ancient Rome, Ancient World Sexuality, Ancient-World Polyamory, Ancient-World Setting, Ancient-World Slavery, Blood and Gore, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, FYI: it's Ancient Rome - everyone is bisexual, Gladiatrix Korra, Graphic Violence, Harem Antics, Lesbian Sex, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, Roman Spain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introverted_Chaos/pseuds/Introverted_Chaos
Summary: Legend of Korra Gladiatrix AU. Set in Roman Spain during the later days of the Roman Republic before and during the Civil War between Caesar and Pompey. Korra is a gladiatrix who catches the eye of Asami, a wealthy merchant-princess. Mako and Bolin are legionaries in Pompey's armies.I'm working to make this story as historically authentic as I'm capable of. While I'm a long-time enthusiast of Ancient Rome, I'm not an expert by any means. I'm happy to take constructive criticism on the historical accuracy, but Imustinsist that anyone who offers it provide sources as well. Thanks in advance!Also, huge thanks goes out to the lovelyChenriafor the awesome gladiatrix!Korra art work!





	1. Triplex Minas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken far from her homelands, Korra now fights for the entertainment of others on the far side of the Roman Empire. But what was supposed to be a standard execution fight takes an unexpected turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology:  
>  _Triplex Minas_ : Latin for 'triple threat.'  
>  _gladius_ : Roman broadsword of Spanish origin, popular among gladiators and standard-issue legionary sidearm.  
>  _manica_ : segmented arm armor, usually leather or bronze, popular among gladiators.  
>  _ludus_ : training ground for gladiators.  
>  _hoplomachus_ : type of heavy gladiator, fights primarily with spear and buckler, intended to represent classical Greek hoplite warriors.  
>  _auxiliary_ : during Caesar's time, a mercenary fighting for the Roman legions. Under Augustus it would come to mean non-citizen soldier.  
>  _vomitorium_ : tunnel leading from behind an arena into the stands.  
>  _fornices_ : colonnaded area behind an arena or theater.  
>  _xiphos_ : Greek-style short- or broadsword with a leaf-shaped taper at the head.  
>  _linothorax_ : Greek-style linen armor, still in use by Roman times.  
>  _falcata/kopis_ : the Spanish and Greek names for a forward-curving, single-edged slashing sword with a tapered bulge toward the end.

 

To the screams and cheers of the Tarraco mob, Korra strode into the sandy arena, bronze buckler in her left hand, spear in her right. The spear was over a foot taller than she was, with a bronze head at its tip and a bronze spike at the butt. A dagger and gladius hung from her right hip. Smeared in dirt and olive-oil to protect from Iberia’s summer sun, Korra posed dramatically for the crowd wearing her usual bronze armor: a Greek-styled t-visor helmet, right-arm leather manica, bronze left-shoulder pauldron to protect her neck, leather harness around her waist, and left-leg greave. Beyond that, she wore soldier’s sandals, girding about her loins, linen wraps around her boobs—more to keep them out of the way than any pretense at modesty—and black stag-and-tiger tattoos across her back, arms, and shoulders.

Though she’d rather keep her hair shorter, the crowd preferred she wear a long, tangled mane like some Gaul warrior or something. Thus it dangled out the back of her helmet for an enemy to grab onto in a fight. She knew it was stupid, but her job was to please the spectators.

A crowd favorite from Councilman Tarrlok’s _ludus_ , this was Korra’s eighth fight since her training started a year and a half ago. It was repayment for her debts, she’d been told. Originally purchased by some infantry brothel for the legionaries, Korra had killed two of Tarrlok’s gladiators her former owner rented to ‘break’ her. Tarrlok took her as part of his repayment for the loss of his gladiators. Apparently he figured if she could kill two trained fighters with her bare hands in a brothel stall, she could learn to kill them with weapons in the arena.

Though she’d trained with different weapons, Korra primarily fought as a _hoplomachus_ —a spear-and-shield fighting style supposedly based on the classical Greek hoplite warriors. In the arena she was called the “Thracian Amazon,” apparently based on some Greek legend or something, despite that she wasn’t Greek and only vaguely knew where Thrace was. She’d always been strong and stocky, but the endless days of weapons training had made her stronger, as well as thick and broad-shouldered, with muscular arms, legs, and torso.

As she awaited her opponent’s arrival, Korra reflected that this fate was far better than that brothel. The brothel meant being pounded by an endless stream of Iberian, Latin, or Gallic infantrymen until she died from childbirth or something venereal. In the _ludus_ , she spent her days training with spears and swords and her nights banging slave girls or the occasional adventuresome noblewoman. All she had to do in return was fight five or six times a year. And if she survived long enough to earn her freedom, she had decent job prospects as a gladiator trainer, enforcer for a debt-collector, or bodyguard for some patrician or wealthy pleb.

Today, however, Korra was called upon to carry out an execution, rather than a regular fight. Some thug who called himself “Shady Shins” or “Shady Shoes” or something similarly stupid had been sentenced to death in the arena, and Korra was selected to carry out the sentence. All she had to do was make it entertaining for the crowd.

The crowd continued to roar as the gates opened at the far end of the arena. Clad in a myriad of colors and garments, the thousand or more spectators were mostly native Iberian, though the legionaries and auxiliaries—on leave from the legion encampment at Ilerda—might instead be from Italia, Gaul, Africa, or even Greece. An important trade hub, the city also saw merchants and travelers from as far away as Sicily and Libya. There was also a bunch of mercenary archers from someplace called “Knossos” who were apparently big fans of the arena and came to the fights regularly. Korra couldn’t see into the shaded area where the nobles sat, but she knew Asami was there, watching and cheering her on. While the nobles all got shaded seating, the soldiers and plebs had to sweat it out in the heat.

This didn’t seem to deter their enthusiasm for the kill.

“Get your greasy hands off me,” Shady-whatever protested as the guards shoved him into the arena. A lanky, rather foppish-looking Gaul, the condemned had a short, sandy, Roman haircut and a short beard that had probably stayed neatly trimmed prior to his incarceration. He made a show of dusting off his tunic before drawing his gladius.

“Now this…? This is just insulting,” Shady snorted as he and Korra advanced on each other. “I’m supposed to go out in some kind of blaze of glory in the arena, and they make me fight some freaking broad? I guess that’s provincial entertainment for ya.”

Korra continued forward, wary and scowling at his flippant behavior. While some arena fighters adopted a wisecracking posture as part of their on-stage persona, those condemned were usually less… collected in the face of an advancing gladiatrix.

So what did Shady here know that Korra didn’t?

“S’matter, Muscles?” the lanky fop mocked again. “No outrage? Not even a snarky reply? I’ll bet it just tears you up inside, having to snuff out a face this pretty, am I right?” His eyes darted about the arena for a second, as if watching for some hidden sign or signal.

Korra found herself tempted to throw her spear the last fifteen feet and finish him then and there. Something about Shady’s posture and expression told her that delay would work to her disadvantage.

“You’re expecting help!” Korra accused suddenly, dropping into a fighting stance and scanning the stands.

“Ah, I was gonna save that for the surprise, but since you figured it out…” Shady snickered. He raised his left hand to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

Korra grimaced as eight thugs leapt in from around the arena, drawing daggers and rushing to surround her.

* * *

* * *

“Check it out, Bro, it’s Shady Shin!” Bolin pointed out as the guards shoved the prisoner into the arena. “Remember him from Capua, with the _Triplex Minas_ triad?”

Mako squinted and leaned forward to look, adjusting his baldric to keep his gladius from digging into his side. “Huh,” he muttered as he recognized the lanky thug. “I wonder what he’s doing out here in the provinces.”

“He probably traveled out here to escape the law, and it didn’t work,” Bolin chuckled. “Mako and I knew that guy when we were growing up,” he pointed out to Hasook, one of the Balearic mercenaries from Afranius’s legions. The brothers sat amid a cluster of other legionaries and auxiliaries from Pompey’s allied legions stationed in nearby Ilerda.

“Well, he’s in a lot of trouble, then,” Mako said, sounding satisfied.

“Yeah,” Bolin laughed his agreement. “The Thracian Amazon hasn’t lost a fight yet. Hey, remember that one fight where she was taking on two guys at once, and she had to beat that Punic guy to death with her shield because her spear broke and her dagger got stuck in the other guy’s ribcage?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mako recalled. “I think she started carrying a gladius as well, after that.”

Bolin couldn’t hear what was being said over the cheering, but it looked like Shin was doing a lot of posturing as he faced the Thracian Amazon. The thought puzzled Bolin—Shin tended to cow away from any fight where he didn’t have either the obvious upper hand or some secret advantage against his opponent.

Before he could say anything to Mako, they heard a sharp whistle from the arena. As they watched, eight guys with daggers leapt from the stands to encircle the gladiatrix.

“Whoa-ho! These fights get better every year,” Bolin laughed. “They totally pitched this as just another execution fight. But _this_? This is some quality suspense-building.”

“Uh, I don’t think this is part of the show, Bo,” Mako pointed out. “Isn’t that Two-Toed Peng?” he asked, pointing to a familiar short, scrawny guy in a red tunic.

“Oh no,” Bolin murmured. “And that’s Viper over there,” he added, pointing out the _Triplex Minas_ ’ gang leader.

Mako looked grim as the thugs closed in on the outnumbered gladiatrix. The crowd continued to cheer, as if assuming this was all part of the show.

“Should we… do something?” Bolin asked, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not our fight, but you and I both know what those guys can do, and she’s kinda all by herself out there…”

“And the arena guards don’t seem to be doing anything more than covering the exits,” Mako added. “But like you said, it’s not our fight. Plus, we’re already in trouble for that stunt with those Gaul cavalry warriors.”

“Oh, yeah, good times,” Bolin said, remembering.

* * *

* * *

Screeching one of her people’s battle cries, Korra charged one of her attackers in effort to get outside their circle. With no back protection, she definitely didn’t want them surrounding her. She made a leaping lunge at her target, thrusting her spear as a deterrent. Though startled by her move, the red-shirted thug easily dodged her hastily aimed attack.

She whirled around as she landed, backing toward the whitewashed arena walls. Too high to jump and too steep to climb, they didn’t afford much of an escape—and she didn’t really expect the spectators to pull her to safety.

Deciding she needed versatility and peripheral vision for this fight, Korra cast aside her buckler and helm. Taking her spear in both hands, she backed up a few more paces as the thugs closed in.

The nearest two thugs rushed in at once. Korra thrust her spear at one to make him flinch back. Dodging a blow from the attacker in the red tunic, she swung the spiked end up to catch him under the arm. She smiled as one of his ribs gave way from the hit. As the bastard stumbled back, Korra stepped in to stab him in the chest with the spike. The man clutched his bleeding chest, backing out of range.

Korra backed closer to the wall to stay out of their semicircle a little better. The crowd certainly hadn’t quieted any, apparently not realizing this wasn’t part of the show. Though, given that the guards hadn’t come to her aid, clearly the arena’s staff planned to play this off as part of the spectacle—to try to save face if nothing else.

Which meant Korra was on her own.

“Get ‘er,” the boss thug ordered. Three henchmen surged forward, daggers ready while the others stayed back and fanned out to keep her from escaping.

Spinning, Korra stabbed to her left with her spear, catching one attacker in the shoulder. As she completed her spin, she kicked the center attacker in the gut and raised her right arm to block the right attacker’s stab with her manica. Spinning her spear like a stave, she slashed the head across the center attacker’s throat. Attacking to her right this time, she stuffed the spear’s bronze spike between two ribs on her right-most attacker. Wrenching it out, she turned and finished off the wounded attacker on her left. The crowd cheered at the sight of the pain and bloodshed.

Three of their number dead or dying, the remaining thugs backed off in surprise at Korra’s sudden onslaught. Red-tunic stayed back and continued to clutch his bleeding chest. Korra made a show of stretching her neck, first to the left, then right, much to the delight of the crowd and the annoyance of her attackers. If she was going to die, she might as well make her killers look foolish in the process.

Without further theatrics, Korra gave another cry and charged the enemy center, aiming straight for their boss. Though he managed to evade her initial lunge, Korra whipped the butt of her spear around to stab the back of his left leg as she spun by. Out the other side of the attackers, she noticed blood from a slash to her left bicep.

Behind her, Korra heard red-tunic maneuvering to take a stab at her back. She let him get within spear-length before spinning to her left to stab him through the chest again. Wrenching the spear from his wound, she spun back around—

—only to see all five of her remaining opponents charge upon her. She thrust a hasty stab at Shady, but the smug jackass dodged slightly and gripped her spear with his left hand. Though Korra let go in time to keep from being pulled off balance, his counter-stab still cut her to a rib. She stumbled back, managing to get her manica up to deflect a stab from one of the other thugs. Not letting up, Shady stabbed again. Though Korra managed to catch his wrist, his gladius still broke skin, cutting her left arm again. Before she could draw her own gladius, Shady stepped in to stab her with her own spear, cutting deep though she rolled with the attack.  

The blow made Korra stumble back again, letting go of Shady’s arm. Off balance, she tripped backward over red-tunic’s body, clutching her bleeding chest. She hit the sand, not quite hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Rolling to her feet entirely by reflex, Korra staggered back as the remaining thugs closed in. Shady seemed to snicker at Korra’s hunched posture and the blood running over her arms as she clutched her injuries. He’d opened his mouth to say something when another voice interrupted.

“I guess some things never change, do they, Shady Shin?” the new voice mocked. Korra and her attackers all looked as a pair of young men in legionary tunics strode across the arena, gladiuses drawn. “Just like back home, eh, Mako?”

“Yep,” the other agreed. “I mean, have the _Triplex Minas_ ever attacked someone who wasn’t either outnumbered or unarmed?”

“Bolin, Mako, is that you?” Shady Smug-face asked, facing them. “Kinda figures you two’d join Pompey’s mules out here in the provinces. What’re they payin’ you two mooks ta—?”

He cut off with a scream as Korra drew her gladius and slashed the bastard across the back in one motion. Pivoting, she stepped around him to slice his right arm off above the elbow.

Buggering the theatrics that had gotten her sliced up in the first place and using the distraction to her advantage, Korra cut into the remaining thugs without hesitation or mercy. Still covering her wounds with her left arm, Korra slashed the leader across his chest, then stabbed her gladius through his stomach and into his heart. Wrenching the blade from his wound, she slashed another attacker through the neck, taking his head most of the way off.

The crowd screamed and cheered as she dodged a counter-stab from one of her two remaining attackers. Stepping in, she stabbed him in the throat. The thug made hideous gargling noises as he fell. Korra parried her last attacker’s final stab by lopping his hand off at the wrist. Her backswing sliced his bowels open, dropping him screaming to the sand beside his comrades.

“Thanks for the distraction,” was all she said to the two dumbfounded legionaries. Both just stared, but she noticed a momentary smile at the edge of the shorter one’s mouth.

Korra stepped over to where Shady lay in the blood-stained sand, blubbering and clutching his bloody stump. Bending over, she gripped him by the hair and yanked him to his knees before the crowd. Placing her gladius against his throat, she looked up at the crowd to decide his fate.

“No, gods damn it! _No_!” Shady begged as the shrieking mob unanimously voted to end him.

He gargled one last time as Korra cut his throat, letting his body collapse to the sand beside his friends and their failed rescue attempt. She nodded briefly to the two legionaries as she limped toward the gates.

The world began to blur around her as the adrenaline wore off and the pain and blood-loss began to affect her. She stumbled a couple times as she trudged back across the arena, one step at a time. Korra wasn’t sure when her gladius slipped from her hand, but she only passingly noticed she wasn’t still holding it.

The gate guards stepped back respectfully as she stumbled from the Spanish sun into the darkness behind the arena. Her trainer Tenzin and one of the medical staff managed to catch her as her body gave out. She felt Tenzin lift her in his arms as the last of her consciousness ebbed away.

* * *

* * *

“How much hell do you think we’ll catch for jumping into the arena?” Bolin asked as they filed through the vomitorium and into the colonnaded fornices behind the arena, shading their eyes against the evening sunset.

“Lots,” Mako agreed. “As in there may be a flogging from Varo instore when we get back. And we don’t know if we even _saved_ the Thracian Amazon—she looked _really_ bad when they took her backstage.”

“Excuse me, are you the two legionaries who jumped into the arena to help Korra?” a woman’s voice asked to their right.

They turned to see a tall, strikingly elegant noblewoman with green eyes and gorgeous, wavy hair. Based on her accent, Mako guessed her to be either Illyrian or northern Greek. She wore a red, Grecian-style dress and shoulder cloak with a short xiphos strapped to her hip. Behind her stood a young Greek serving girl and a pair of guardswomen who had ex-gladiatrix written all over them. The taller guardswoman was clearly Nubian while the other was a native Iberian, likely Lusitanian, if Mako was guessing. Both were solid and muscular, wearing _linothorax_ armor with falcata- or kopis-style swords.

Mako suspected either guardswoman could clobber the shit out of an above-average legionary.

“If ‘Korra’ is the Thracian Amazon, then yeah, that’s us,” Mako told the woman, adding a bit of swagger to his posture. Damn she was hot. “I’m Mako, and this is my brother, Bolin.”

“ _Ave_ ,” Bolin greeted.

“I want to thank the both of you for leaping to her rescue. The Thracian Amazon is my… close friend,” the woman explained. “When I realized that the ambush wasn’t part of the show, I was on the verge of sending my guardswomen in to assist her.” She gestured to the serving girl, who stepped forward to hand Mako and Bolin each a bag of copper and silver coins. “Please accept this as a token of my thanks.”

“Gosh, thanks,” Bolin said, looking down at the bag. “But all we really did was create a distraction.”

“It was still enough to help her win the fight,” the woman assured them.

“Do you know if she’s alright?” Mako asked, looking up from his coins.

“I don’t,” the woman answered, grimacing a bit in frustration. “The guards wouldn’t let me in to see her, but her trainer assured me that the medics are doing everything they can for her. Hopefully that will be enough. Regardless, they wouldn’t have had that chance to if you hadn’t intervened.”

“Well, protecting Rome’s loyal citizens is what we do,” Bolin declared, puffing his chest out.

Mako frowned at his coins again. This was at least five-months’ pay. “We appreciate your praise,” he assured her, “but I’m not sure we can accept this kind of money, Miss…?”

“Asami Sato,” she introduced herself. “And please accept it—it’s the least I could do. I manage my father’s merchant holdings from Massilia to Seguntum. Money isn’t really an issue for me,” she assured them.

“Okay, uh, thanks,” he said finally.

“No, thank _you_ ,” she corrected, smiling warmly. She nodded politely to them, then turned to leave.

“So, I guess we can _bribe_ Varo to not flog us,” Bolin shrugged to Mako, hefting his coin pouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So don't worry too much about Korra! She's got access to some of the best medical treatment in the Ancient World! Spectators quickly loose interest in an under-performing gladiator, so ludus owners payed big money to keep their fighters in tip-top shape. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, folks! Firstly, yes, women gladiators _did_ exist during Roman times. There is both literary and archaeological evidence for their existence, though how common they were is up for debate. Historian Philip Matyszak offers the assurance that gladiatrices were no less deadly than the men. My primary resource was Dr Matyszak's _[Gladiator: the Roman Fighter's [Unofficial] Manual](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10161553-gladiator?ac=1&from_search=true)_.
> 
> So, for the purposes of this story, I made Korra Scythian. I needed her to be from a Roman-era culture with a real-life women-warrior tradition, and the Scythian tribes from north and east of the Black Sea fit the bill best. Stag-and-tiger designs were a common motif among Scythian tattoos, and so Korra has them across her back and shoulders. Asami is Illyrian specifically because the Illyrian peoples along the eastern shores of the Adriatic were known for their businesswomen and merchant princesses. Lastly, Mako and Bolin are Italian because Roman citizens from Italy made up the largest fraction of the legions during Caesars time, though even by then citizens from Greece, Africa, Iberia, and southern Gaul were becoming more common throughout the legions.
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who voted in my [Korra AUs poll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759489/chapters/36654561)! Apologies to everyone who was hoping for the Runaway AU or the Star Wars AU. Hopefully you'll like this story as well, and hopefully I can get to those stories in the future! Take care, folks, and feedback is always welcome!


	2. A Mother's Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bolin’s vexillation encounters an interruption while on the march. Korra gets to know the ludus’s newest slave girl. Lin and Su commit an act of piracy. NSFW for lesbian smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology:  
>  _vexillation_ : task force of Roman soldiers detached from the main legion. Can range in size from over a dozen to over a thousand.  
>  _testudo_ : Latin for 'tortoise.' A Roman formation where the legionaries overlap their shields above their heads to protect from projectiles.  
>  _pilum_ : a heavy Roman javelin used for its shield- and armor-penetration. Part of the shaft is iron and is designed to bend in order to make removal difficult. Makes for a mediocre impromptu spear.  
>  _scuta/scutum_ : concave Roman tower shield, semi-rectangular with rounded sides and corners.  
>  _equites_ : Roman medium- to heavy cavalry. Usually drawn from the lower nobility ( _equestrian_ ) class  
>  _optio_ : Roman noncom officer. Rank equivalent to that of a modern corporal.  
>  _centurion_ : Roman noncom officer, in charge of ~80 legionaries. Rank equivalent of a modern sergeant.  
>  _Antigonids_ : Macedonian successor dynasty to Alexander the Great's empire. Ruled Macedonia, most of Greece, and parts of modern-day Turkey prior to Roman conquest.  
>  _tribades_ : Latin term for women who have sexual relations with other women.  
>  _hemiolia_ : fast Greek and Roman light warship, designed for raiding and pirate-chasing. Lighter and faster than the Greek bireme, features one and a half decks of rowers to the bireme's two full decks. Popular as privateers or support vessels.  
>  _marine_ : for the purposes of this story, a blanket term for ship-board professional soldiers.  
>  _sica_ : a curved, double-edged dagger or sword, popular with Illyrian, Thracian, Dacian, and northern Greek soldiers.

The attack came from seemingly out of nowhere, as they usually did when these Lusitani tribes were involved. One moment their four-hundred-sixty-man, ninety-horse vexillation marched up a wagon road through the Spanish foothills near the township of Segovia, the next moment the air was filled with javelins, sling bullets, battle cries, and screams of pain.

Bolin felt a sling stone glance off his bronze helmet as he lifted his shield. He winced at the pain, fairly certain that he now had a dent in his helmet that was pressing into the bruise left by the impact. But a dented helmet was always better than a holey skull. And he’d seen some of these Iberian slingers put a stone in one side of the skull and out the other.

“ _Testudo!_ ” the order came from one of the optios. As trained, the legionaries lifted their scuta above their heads, forming a shell against the oncoming projectiles.

Bolin grimaced as sling bullets thudded off his shield, followed by a javelin hitting at too shallow an angle to break shield. To his left a legionary hollered as a bullet impacted his shoulder, breaking bone despite not penetrating his mail.

“ _Pilums!_ ” the optio bellowed next.

Bolin gripped his pilum, lowering his shield as ordered. In front of them, hundreds of Iberian raiders charged from the trees and tall grass on the hillside to the right of the road. The unshielded side, Bolin reflected, seeing the dozen or so legionaries wounded by the opening salvo before they could turn to reposition their shields.

“ _Loose!_ ” came the order.

At the order, Bolin and the other legionaries lobbed their javelins at their attackers. A heavier javelin than the tribes carried, the pilum sacrificed range for killing power and shield-penetration. Still, like most of their training equipment, the legionaries practiced with weighted javelins that were heavier than the ones they used in combat, making the combat weapons feel lighter and easier to use.

Past the shoulders of the legionaries ahead of him, Bolin watched the pilums arc overhead to strike amid the charging Lusitani. That he could see, perhaps a dozen javelins found their marks amid the loosely spaced attackers.

To the formation’s right, the Balearic auxiliaries who’d been marching behind the legionaries readied their slings, letting fly against the attackers before retreating back behind the legionary lines. Some of the Attic and Peloponnesian legionaries considered such skirmishing tactics cowardly, but Bolin wasn’t about to complain about the slingers’ accuracy and effectiveness.

“The hell are those equites?” Bolin groused, lifting his shield and readying another pilum. Fucking horse-boys should have come to the legionaries’ aid by now. More shot and another javelin thudded against his scutum while a legionary to his right fell from sling bullets.

“Tangled up with the Luci horses,” Getorix, a Cisalpine legionary pointed out.

Bolin spared a look. Sure enough, the Roman cavalry had been flanked by Iberian lancers. Even from here he could see several Roman riders unhorsed by the quicker, lighter Lusitanian cavalry.

“Those useless horse-fuckers sure like to get their asses spanked in every skirmish we end up in,” another legionary grimaced.

“You’d think it was a kink for them,” Getorix agreed. “Can’t get it up unless another horseman’s dominating them?”

“ _Pilums_!” the optio barked again.

Bolin readied his pilum, grimacing again. Why couldn’t these Iberians fight like the Gauls and only throw one volley before engaging hand-to-hand. Instead these slippery—and apparently very athletic—fuckers kept charging in and out of pilum range, loosing their slings or javelins before retreating back out of range.

“ _Loose!_ ” the optio ordered.

With the others, Bolin lobbed his pilum at the Lucis, glad to be rid of the heavy damned thing. Their pilums spent, the legionaries drew their gladiuses and waited for the order to charge the pesky Iberians.

The order never came.

“Cavalry’s routed!” a centurion with a Ligurian accent hollered the warning to the formation.

 _Fuck_ , Bolin turned and grimaced, seeing maybe a third of their original equites fleeing, pursued by the Lusitanian riders. Their cavalry broken, a charge to disperse the Luci raiders would leave the legionary flanks vulnerable to cavalry charges and leave the Balearic auxiliaries completely unprotected.

“ _Box up! Protect the flanks!_ ” the centurion ordered.

As they’d drilled over and over, the legionaries rushed to form a box around the slingers, each side three-men deep. Bolin stayed in the middle rank on the side facing the Luci raiders, lifting his shield as another salvo of stones and javelins rained down.

Though the legionaries had suffered maybe a couple dozen casualties, all of them understood how precarious their position was. Forced to protect their flanks and auxiliaries, they’d lost all mobility. And having spent all their javelins, the legionaries were now forced to weather the Iberians’ ranged punishment and hope their own slingers would be sufficient to whittle down the attackers.

Worse yet, three ranks of legionaries _might not_ be sufficient to halt a direct charge from the Iberian lancers. The engagement could easily become a messy, bloody free-for-all if the riders broke one side of their box and the foot raiders decided to engage their side in hand-to-hand.

“Here they come! _Brace, brace, brace_!” the optio hollered as the foot raiders charged.

Bolin felt the shield of the man behind him brace against his back as he braced against the back of the man in front. The clash of swords and shields erupted all around him as the Lusitani raiders attacked the Roman box on two flanks. He heard the snorting and screeching of horses as the enemy cavalry charged the Roman ranks behind him.

Though they lacked the staying power of the mailed legionaries, the sparsely armored Iberians were skilled with spears, falcatas, and gladiuses. Too, they seemed to know how to conserve their energy, unlike the Gauls, who tended to expend their stamina early in the fight, gambling on quickly breaking the enemy lines with a savage, hard-hitting opening assault. Feeling the weight of the enemy press against the front line, Bolin braced his shoulder into his shield, hoping to keep the man in front of him on his feet.

Shouts broke out among the Balearic auxiliaries, warning Bolin that the Iberian cavalry had broken through the legionaries’ box.

 _Not good, not good_ , he grimaced, raising his sword arm to help support his shield. He felt the pressure against his back leave as the legionary behind him turned to meet the new threat from inside their box.

Bolin nearly stumbled forward when the legionary in front of him collapsed, screaming with a spear through the eye. Acting on four years of training and infantry drills, Bolin punched forward with his scutum, knocking back a raider with a bronze disk strapped over his chest. The raider screamed and stumbled back, sword arm looking very broken.

Pulling his shield back to his side, Bolin stabbed forward with his gladius, gouging an enemy shield. Punch, stab, punch, stab, he repeated the motion as the attackers pressed around him. He felt the back of another legionary press against his as the back line tried to hold off the cavalry assault.

He was nearly knocked off balance again as a riderless horse charged by on his left, apparently panicked and fleeing. Though disrupting the legionary line, it also created momentary confusion among the Lusitani, allowing some of the legionaries to take initiative.

Seizing his foes’ confusion, Bolin shoved his attacker back and stepped forward to take a downward slash into the leg of a mailed Iberian attacking the legionary to Bo’s right. Taking advantage, the legionary stabbed the attacker in the throat and shoved him aside, taking a stab at an enemy spearman. Back to back with the man behind him and shoulder to shoulder with the men beside him, Bolin punched and blocked, stabbed and parried, battling on as Romans should.

Roman steel rang against Spanish steel. Iberian swordsmanship and athleticism battled Roman training and discipline.

Knocking a spearman aside, Bolin parried a blow from a swordsman in captured legionary chainmail. The parry left the attacker open for a killing stab from the legionary to Bolin’s right. Bolin brought his shield back around in time for another wave of attackers. He grimaced as a falcata broke partway through his scutum. Pulling his shield back to wrench the falcata from the attacker’s hand, Bo stepped in for another stab. He barely had time to register that he’d just stabbed a woman before turning to parry an enemy gladius.

Shoving the swordsman aside, he stepped in again to cut down a tall, axe-wielding Lusitani. As the tall man fell, another pair of spearmen rushed in to engage. Exhausted, Bolin’s reflexes failed to bring his shield up in time. A spearhead caught his chainmail in the right side, the point going in enough to slash a long gash along his ribs. The legionary to Bo’s left stepped in to aid him, taking the arm off of one spearman while Bolin stabbed the other.

Stepping up for another stab, Bolin nearly tripped as he realized there was no one there to fight. Ahead of him over a hundred surviving Lusitani fled up the hill and back into the trees. Turning around he saw dozens of dead and wounded horses and horsemen mingled with dead and wounded legionaries and auxiliaries. Maybe two thirds of the legionaries still stood with many others wounded. In the distance the surviving Lusitani cavalry fled to the south.

Leaning on his shield, Bolin looked back up the hill toward their fleeing attackers. None of the exhausted legionaries moved to pursue. He noticed the woman he’d stabbed limping behind the others, clutching her wounded arm and side. He was glad she’d survived, frankly. The woman looked maybe as young as her mid-teens, and Bolin hoped she’d live to an old age and have battle scars she could show her children and grandchildren.

He wiped and sheathed his gladius and set his shield down to help gather wounded.

* * *

* * *

“I thought you went home for the evening, Tenzin,” Korra commented, looking up at her trainer. She lay on her chest on one of the massage tables in the ludus’ barracks as Opal rubbed Korra’s back and shoulders with massage oils. Opal was the ludus’ newest slave girl, a personal gift to Korra from Tarrlok for thwarting Shady Shoe’s escape attempt. She’d also been given a nicer, better-balanced gladius by Butakha, the wealthy Punic guy who owned the arena.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re taking things easy, Korra,” Tenzin assured her, leaning against a wooden column. “It’s only been three days since your fight, and those injuries need plenty of time to heal before you even consider going back out to train—or partaking in any _other_ rigorous physical activity,” he added, indicating the naked girl straddling Korra’s back.

“I’m behaving, honest,” Korra murmured, groaning slightly as Opal kneaded a sore spot on her left bicep. She noted how carefully Opal worked around her stitches. “By Tabiti, you’re good at this,” she whispered, turning her head to smirk at Opal. The compliment got a slight blush from the comely slave girl.

“I just don’t want a repeat of the last time you got hurt, when you tore your stitches a few days  later, riding that Illyrian noblewoman who keeps coming back to see you,” Tenzin scolded. P’li walked by behind him, leading her usual Celtiberian bunk-warmer to her bed. “Your wounds opened back up and you had an infection for weeks,” he reminded her.

“Mm, Asami,” Korra smiled to herself, thinking of her wealthy, gorgeous merchant-heiress girlfriend—her long, luxurious hair and soft, supple boobs. “Did I hear right that she asked about me again today?”

“Yes, and the guards and I told her that you’ll need at least another week to recover before you can bed her again,” Tenzin waved it off. “Just… promise me you’ll take things easy until you’ve fully recovered.”

“I will, Tenzin,” she assured him, rolling her eyes. “It just means that poor Opal here won’t get my best until then,” she added, reaching back to squeeze Opal’s leg.

Tenzin rolled his eyes in return and shook his head as he left.

Korra sighed as Opal rubbed her back and shoulders, working her way up each arm. Across the room she could hear P’li pleasuring her girl. June, a freewoman gladiatrix, was hard at it with one of the other girls in the bunk to Korra’s left. To prevent any of the gladiatrices from getting pregnant, they were only allowed slave-girl attendants and could only be rented by women clients, whether as bodyguards or bed-slaves or whatever.

June had once added that it was just as well, because most of these Roman, Gaul, and Iberian men couldn’t handle the idea of laying a woman who was stronger than they were. This was completely unlike Korra’s people, who valued women for strength and martial skill.

Tarrlok’s ludus currently featured thirteen gladiatrices, all of them housed in the same barracks—though the five freewomen gladiatrices had the option of whether or not to stay at the ludus. A few of them were still at the baths, two of the others occupied the remaining massage tables, and any given night it was normal for one or two to be off the ludus and in the beds of paying noblewomen. But this late in the evening most of them had settled into their bunks—most of these with partners, though a few slept alone.

“You have marvelous hands,” Korra commented, aroused by Opal’s touch and by June’s grunts as she rode her slave girl’s hips.

“Thanks,” Opal answered, sounding relieved. “Those other slave ladies who trained me stressed how important it was that I get everything right. They–they said gladiators aren’t always the most patient with mistakes.”

“Some of them are entitled crybabies,” Korra agreed. “They can handle long days of training in the hot sun or a spear-thrust to the shoulder, but gods forbid their dinners are undercooked or their tarts are uninspired. You’re Greek?” she asked next.

“Yes, mostly,” Opal said, repositioning to rub Korra’s neck, “from Pergamon. My mom’s family is Macedonian—descended from distant cousins to the Antigonids, in fact,” she added, apparently assuming Korra would know what that meant. “My dad’s family is Ionian Greek with a bit of Galatian on his mother’s side.”

“Those are those Gauls from Asia, right?” Korra asked. “I think one or two of the gladiators are from there. Are you some kind of noble, then?”

She heard Opal sigh tiredly above her. “Yeah, before I was taken by some Pontic bandits. The bandits sold me to Illyrian merchants, who sold me to southern Italian slavers, who sold me to some Sicilian-Punic revolutionary named Noatak, who sold me to his brother Tarrlok.” Korra felt Opal shiver. “I suppose that’s a downside to the Romans cleaning up piracy on the Aegean and Adriatic: slavers can safely sell captives farther from their homes than ever before in history. What about you?” Opal asked, in apparent effort to change the subject. “They call you the ‘Thracian Amazon,’ but you don’t look very Thracian.”

“I’m not,” Korra shook her head. P’li gave a gasp as she and her girl lay on their sides, fingering each other and moaning. “It’s just a stage-name they gave me when I started fighting for the ludus.”

“That’s kind of what I figured,” Opal said. “Where are you really from then?”

“North of some Greek kingdom called Bosporus,” Korra recalled, shrugging as Opal scooted down to massage her lower back. “The Greeks call our people ‘Scythian,’ but the name doesn’t mean anything to me,” she admitted.

“That explains the tattoos on your back and arms. So you _are_ an Amazon, kind of,” Opal seemed to chuckle, rubbing more oil on her hands. June’s girl gave a warbling moan as she climaxed. June laughed and paused to stretch before continuing her thrusting.

“What does that even mean?” Korra wanted to know, turning slightly to look back at Opal. Wow, she had cute boobs.

“The Amazons were legendary warrior women from Heracles’s time,” Opal explained, deepening her massage of Korra’s lower back. “They were as skilled and powerful as the greatest Greek heroes, and a small band of them nearly even turned the tide against Agamemnon’s forces during the Trojan War. That Herodotus guy and some other historians argue that the Scythians are descended from them, given that your people let women ride in combat.”

“Makes our armies bigger,” Korra shrugged. “I mean, we’re horse people, and women make exactly as good of cavalry as men. These Romans and Greeks and Punics and whoever else are just so determined that women can’t fight…” she grumbled.

“That’s maybe why gladiatrices are such a draw at the arena,” Opal suggested, turning around to massage Korra’s legs. “Fighting women are so… _contrary_ to the Greek and Roman concept of femininity that people will pay good money for the sheer exoticism of a woman warrior.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Korra commented. Over in her bunk, P’li rolled onto her back, pulling her girl atop her. The girl straddled her hips and began her own sticky, rhythmic thrusting.

“Not really,” Opal laughed. “I’ve never been really interested in arena fights. I just remember hearing my mom and oldest brother speculating about it one time.”

“So what does interest you?” Korra wanted to know.

“I like to read, mostly,” Opal said, working down Korra’s calves. “I think I miss my family’s library as much as I miss my family,” she admitted, barking a rueful laugh.

Korra laughed as well, rolling over to place Opal on her lap. Sitting up, she squeezed Opal from behind and rested her chin on Opal’s shoulder. “I really like you,” Korra murmured, placing a quick peck on her pretty slave’s salty cheek. She shifted their position to dangle their legs over the side of the massage table. “I’m glad that I met you, and I’m glad I get to keep you for my own,” she assured Opal, pressing her boobs against Opal’s back.

“I’m glad too,” Opal whispered, resting her cheek against Korra’s. “I was _terrified_ when they told me I’d be servicing gladiators. But you… you’re not what I expected.”

“I’m only savage at the training grounds and in the arena,” Korra promised, squeezing Opal again. She raised one hand up to play with Opal’s hair. “It’s what my girlfriend says she loves most about me,” she admitted. “She knows that I have the strength to twist a grown man’s head off but also have the soft, firm touch to keep her moaning for hours. Want me to show you?” she asked, letting her voice drop to a whisper beside Opal’s ear. “I mean the soft touch part, not the head-twisting thing.”

“Yes,” Opal murmured, breath quickening. “Show me…”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you quite the ride you deserve,” Korra apologized, sliding her hands up and down Opal’s belly. “Last time I got sliced up, I almost got my stupid ass tossed back into the brothels for riding my girlfriend until I tore my stitches. At the same time I almost got her banned from ever coming to see me again.” She slid her hands up to briefly squeeze Opal’s boobs, then slid them back down. “So I have to behave myself for a while. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show you a nice time.”

With that, Korra used one hand to turn Opal’s face toward her for a long, squishy kiss. She felt Opal’s hand tangle into her hair to hold their faces together while Korra’s hands explored Opal’s slim body.

“I like your boobs,” Korra admitted as their kiss parted, sliding both hands up to cup Opal’s breasts. They were small but perky, fitting comfortably into Korra’s strong hands. Opal moaned and closed her eyes as Korra kneaded and fondled her. Kissing up and down Opal’s cheek, neck, and shoulder, Korra pinched those cute nipples and caressed her areolae.

She kept Opal moaning for several minutes, just squeezing, kneading, caressing, and fondling those sweet, bare boobs. More than anything, Korra wanted to lay her back on the massage table, mount those slender hips, and spend half the night grinding Opal senseless, over and over and over.

 _Wait until these stitches come out_ , she reminded herself. _I thought I was being careful last time, but still tore them._

“Touch me lower,” Opal whispered, her breathing ragged from Korra’s pleasuring. In response, Korra slid her hands down Opal’s belly to play with her navel, spending several moments plunging a finger in and out and pretending to stroke an imaginary clitoris. Opal giggled and rested her cheek against Korra’s.

Opal’s giggle turned into a gasp as Korra slid her right hand down to cup Opal’s vulva. She wasn’t surprised to learn how wet Opal already was, leaving a sticky residue on Korra’s fingers. Opal fondled herself with her left hand while her right reached back to clutch Korra’s mighty shoulder, apparently needing something to hold onto. Korra held her in place with her left arm while her right continued pleasuring.

She slid her hand up and down Opal’s folds for several minutes, sometimes sliding them between her fingers, sometimes sliding her fingers between them. With a practiced care that came from a year-and-a-half of sweaty nights with slave girls and _tribades_ noblewomen, Korra gently stroked Opal’s womanhood. She clutched Opal in place as her right hand slid all the way up, leaving the very tip of her middle finger touching Opal’s clitoris, and then all the way back down, fingers and palm traveling the length of Opal’s folds with each stroke.

“ _Gods, yes_ ,” Opal murmured, tears on her cheeks.

Encouraged and confident that Opal was wet enough, Korra slid two fingers deep inside Opal’s cunny. Opal moaned and gasped as Korra slid her fingers in and out, pleasuring her over and over. Korra smiled as Opal fondled herself with both hands and writhed involuntarily against the muscular arm holding her in place.

Korra adjusted her grip around Opal’s torso to hopefully keep from hurting her. One of the downsides to being so incredibly strong was that she had to be constantly aware of that strength while making love. Thrusting or squeezing too hard during a moment of passion could easily injure her partner—a few slave girls ended up with sprains and bruises when Korra first joined the ludus, in fact.

A trembling groan and a warm, gentle, sticky gush heralded Opal’s shuddering climax. Opal wept and Korra chuckled as Korra pleasured her through the orgasm.

“Hah! Nice one, girl,” June congratulated, still grinding her partner as Korra cuddled and whispered soft assurances to the still-quivering Opal.

“You alright?” Korra asked, standing to carry Opal to bed.

“Yeah, I’m just really… relieved,” Opal admitted, smiling up at her through teary eyes. Korra wasn’t sure if her shaking was sobbing or laughing—probably both. “When I heard I’d be servicing _gladiators_ , of all people, all I could imagine was being pounded every night by some huge, hairy, muscular Gaul whose cock is way too big for me. But you… you just gave me maybe the best climax I’ve ever had,” Opal added as Korra lay her down on their bunk. “Thank you so much. I kind of can’t wait to find out how good you are ‘at your best’ once you recover.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Korra promised, laying on her side to face Opal. Korra smiled and let her eyes wander over those slender, candle-lit curves. “You’re safe with me. I promise,” she assured her, running a hand up and down Opal’s hip.

Opal smiled sleepily at her as Korra pulled her close and pulled a blanket over them to keep out the late night chill.

* * *

* * *

Lin shaded her eyes and glared at the fleeing slaver ship as Suyin’s hemiolia, _Winged Boar_ , closed the gap at full sail. Behind them, the _Boar’s_ sister ship, _Melon Lord_ , skirmished with the slavers’ remaining escorts, Wei and Wing commanding.

“Do you think we’ll finally find her?” Su asked as Kuvira barked orders to the marines and deck crew. The western coastline of the Peloponnese passed by off to starboard. “The further we sail from home, the more dangerous this gets.”

“Zeus willing,” Lin tried to assure her, grimacing a bit as a wave splashed over the _Boar’s_ forecastle, spraying their hair and blackened-bronze armor. “If the gods are willing this will be our last act of piracy, we’ll find Opal safe and sound, and we can all sail home and forget this awful business.”

And this was a straight-up act of piracy. There was no getting around the fact, and all of them knew it. They’d painted both hemiolia dark grey to hide their affiliation, they flew plain grey sails, and all of the marines wore nondescript armor of black leather or blackened bronze.

It was kind of a gross irony, Lin reflected. The _Winged Boar_ and _Melon Lord_ —renowned pirate-chasers along the Ionian coast and southern Aegean and heroic privateers for Sardis, Rhodes, Halicarnassus, and a half-dozen other city-states—were now engaged in an act of piracy against a legitimate slaver company, deep within Roman waters.

Not that there seemed to be anyplace that _wasn’t_ Roman waters, these days.

“You don’t sound very confident in your assurance, Lin,” Aiwei observed from behind them.

“I’m not,” Lin agreed.

“ _You_ ,” Su snarled at the cowering Greco-Italian slaver tied up on his knees in front of Aiwei. She stepped over and kicked him again, slamming a bronze greave into his ribs. “You’re damned certain that that’s the ship we’re after?”

“You’re crazy!” the slaver gave a whining, pleading protest, trying to pick himself up from the deck. “Yes! Yes, I’m sure!”

“He is telling the truth,” Aiwei informed them. Lin wasn’t sure if Aiwei’s truth-seeing was from intuition or some kind of Egyptian mysticism, but as much as it creeped her out, it was really fucking handy.

A handful of archers aboard the fleeing merchantman loosed arrows at the hemiolia, as if it would discourage pursuit. Two thudded against the _Boar’s_ wooden prow while the remaining two or three splashed into the waves of the Mediterranean.

“Javelins, ready!” Kuvira shouted to her marines. Their sixteen mercenaries lined up on the port railing with skirmishing javelins.

“Athena, give us strength,” Lin murmured to herself.

“Let fly!” Kuvira barked.

At her signal the marines loosed against the retreating slavers. The sons of bitches knew their business, Lin acknowledged as slavers, crewmen, and hired thugs collapsed to the deck or took cover from the onslaught. The slavers’ helmsman dropped screaming to the deck, javelin perforating his right leg. With that, the slavers’ evasive maneuvers ceased. The _Boar’s_ helmsman lowered the port tiller, bringing them on a more parallel course to the slavers’ ship.

“Furl the sheets!” Kuvira ordered her crewmen as their hemiolia narrowed the gap. “Sweeps, bring us alongside!” At the order, the ninety-odd rowers took over for the sails, maneuvering up alongside the slavers’ starboard railing.

Lin and Su donned their helmets and drew their swords as they prepared for boarding. Years of experience with javelins, the marines targeted the slavers’ archers to prevent them from shooting back and their deck crew to make their escape more difficult. The slavers and guards were poorly armed and sparsely armored and should be no match for Su’s battle-hardened Ionian and Galatian marines. The portside rowers racked their oars to keep them from getting broken or tangled with the slavers’ oars.

“For Opal!” Kuvira shouted to her boarding party as four crewmen with boathooks snagged the slavers’ railing and dragged both ships up side by side.

With that, Su, Lin, Kuvira, and nearly twenty marines charged over the railing and onto the slavers’ deck. Kopis in one hand, shield strapped to the other, Lin hit the decks swinging. Her first foe looked Dacian, clumsily swinging a sica. Lin blocked the weapon easily with her shield, using the opening to slice her kopis deep into the barbarian’s guts. Beside her, Kuvira screamed a battle cry as she cut down a guard with her favorite boarding axe. Further down the deck, Keltoi, Kuvira’s Galatian lover, smashed open one slaver’s face with her shield while slicing her kopis deep into a guardsman’s leg. Ahead of them, Su bashed a guard out of the way with her shield, breaking his arm, then stuffed her gladius into an archer’s bowels.

The fight was brief and bloody as the slavers and their hired thugs fell to the marines’ superior training and weapons. The ship’s captain, the slaver foreman, and a dozen or so slavers and crew surrendered. The enemy wounded were put to the sword.

“ _Please_! We’ve surrendered; is this really necessary?” the Italian captain begged as a Galatian marine cut a wounded archer’s throat. The surviving crew were bound and lined up on their knees along the starboard railing.

“Probably not, but it’s cathartic,” Su told him. “ _You!_ ” she shouted, stepping over to stiff-arm the slaver foreman with her right vambrace. The blow bloodied his cheek and knocked him to the deck. “We’re looking for my daughter; she was sold to your company by Illyrian merchants, and we _know_ she was aboard your ship,” she demanded. “An Ionian noblewoman, early twenties, with green eyes and short, dark hair: what have you done with her?”

“N–nothing… I–I don’t know who you’re talking about!” the slaver objected, picking himself partway up off the deck.

“He is lying,” Aiwei said as he stepped up behind them.

“So you _do_ know who I’m talking about!” Su accused, kicking the slaver back to the deck.

Lin stepped up and pressed his head against the deck with the bottom of her sandal. “Is she aboard this ship?” she asked, grinding down on his ear.

“No! No, she’s not on board!” the slaver pled.

“He’s telling the truth,” Aiwei assured them.

“Where is she? Who did you sell her to?” Su asked next.

“S–Syracuse!” he bleated. “We–we sold her to a Punic man named Noatak in Syracuse. That’s all I know, I _swear_!”

“He is telling the truth,” Aiwei nodded. Lin took her foot off the slaver’s head and stepped back. “I know this name, Noatak,” Aiwei added. “He’s a Sicilian merchant and information broker who is suspected of aiding revolutionaries against the Roman occupation of Sicily.”

Su dragged the slaver foreman to his knees, crouching on one knee before him. “I have one last question,” she informed him, resting the tip of her gladius beneath his chin and keeping ahold of his tunic. “Did you touch my daughter or molest her in any way while you had her captive?”

“N–no, of course not!” the slaver protested.

“He is lying,” Aiwei said with an icy calmness.

Lin grimaced a bit as Su shoved her gladius up into the slaver’s brain. He died with a gargling noise as she wrenched the sword from his skull.

“What happens to the rest of us?” the ship’s captain asked.

“Are these the keys to the slaves’ shackles?” Su asked, taking a set of keys from the dead slaver foreman.

“Ah… yes, I believe so,” the captain answered.

“Check among the slaves, just in case, and loot any valuables you find—we need to pay for this voyage somehow,” Su told Kuvira, handing over the keys. “Then toss the keys over to the slaves. We’ll walk away from this mess and let them decide the crew’s fate.”

“ _No!_ They’ll kill us!” the captain begged.

“Then maybe you should have treated them better. If you’re treating them badly enough that they kill you, it means you treated my daughter badly enough that you deserve it,” Su told the crew pitilessly as she turned her back on them.

 _Well, we’re definitely pirates now,_ Lin thought grimly as Kuvira and a few marines went below decks.

Their gruesome business concluded, Lin, Su, and the others returned to the _Winged Boar_. Crewmen used poles to push off from the slavers’ ship, allowing the oarsmen to row them back out to sea. Turning the hemiolia around, they rowed back south to rendezvous with the _Melon Lord_.

* * *

* * *

“Looks like we’re in the clear; no signs of pursuit,” Lin reported as she entered Su’s tent. Both ships lay beached along the Greek coast, somewhere south of Nicopolis. Most of the crew and marines were settled into their tents and bedrolls. “Ships are tended, the crew’s fed, and thirty-odd harlots and pretty-boys from that village we traded with have showed up, plying their trade,” she added.

“Good, it’ll get everyone’s mind off today’s raid,” Su said, looking up briefly from her candlelit maps.

“Want me to bring you a tent warmer?” Lin asked.

“That’s fine,” Su agreed, still scowling at a map of Sicily.

“Male or female?”

“Whichever,” Su waved it off.

Lin studied her sister for a moment. “You alright?” she asked.

Su took a long, angry breath and closed her eyes. “No, Lin, I’m not alright,” she admitted. “Why did this have to happen? Especially to Opal?” she demanded of no one in particular. Lin stepped over to sit beside Su and rub her back with one hand. “My sweet, beautiful little girl is missing and could be anywhere in the Romans’ stupid little empire by now,” Su sobbed as she continued. “At this very moment, I hate everyone and everything. I hate the bandits who stole her. I hate the slavers and merchants who traded and exchanged her like a trinket. I hate the crews of every slaver ship that hauled her further and further from home. I hate that arrogant Athenian woman who admitted to forcing Opal into her bed. I hate everyone in the world for going about their business while my sweet baby lies in slavery facing gods only know what. And for that matter, I hate the world for stealing her from me, and I hate the gods themselves for letting the world steal her.” Su clutched Lin and wept against her shoulder.

“I hate everything,” Su whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure there's an unwritten rule that every Ancient Rome AU has to have at least one chapter that's got a sex scene sandwiched between two battle scenes. I think I read it in a book one time. 
> 
> For pretty much all of its history, the Roman Republic had pretty below-average cavalry. With the exception of possibly Greece, pretty much everyone the Roman's fought had superior horses and superior horsemen. As a result, the legions relied heavily on mercenary cavalry when available. It wouldn't be until the Augustan reforms' improved integration of non-citizen auxiliaries that there'd be a marked improvement in the overall quality of Roman cavalry. 
> 
> Bolin fighting a woman raider is a nod to the Iberian tribes' willingness to equip their women as raiders and light cavalry. Roman accounts from the Iberian conquests remark on the athleticism of their men and women alike. Sextus Brutus in particular makes note of Lusitani women defending their homes beside the men with the same courage and ferocity. 
> 
> To the best of my knowledge, Pompey's legions stationed in Iberia weren't at war with anyone in particular. Their job was to keep the peace between rival Iberian tribes, lest their conflicts interfere with the Romans' trade, agriculture, and mining interests. Caesar's _Commentaries_ and Adrian Goldsworthy's _In the Name of Rome_ were my main sources for the deployment of Pompey's Iberian troops. Other useful texts on the legions include Philip Matyszak's _Legionary: the Roman Solider's [Unofficial] Handbook_ and Gilliver, Goldsworthy, and Whitby's _Rome at War_. 
> 
> I can't prove one way or another if Roman ludus only allowed slave girls to attend their gladiatrices, but given the unreliability of Roman-era birth-control, this seems like a sensible precaution. 
> 
> One point to remember about Ancient warships is that they couldn't venture far from land. Due to combat maneuvers restricting load limits, warships rarely traveled with more than a couple days worth of food and water. This necessitated beaching the ships every night and allowing the sailors and crew to replenish their water and hunt or trade for food. As a result, warships tried to stay in sight of the coastline, using landmarks to navigate.
> 
> Also, for anyone seeking to argue that Suyin would never torture and murder unarmed prisoners, keep in mind that in the show Su metalbent her armor around a combustion bender's head just in time for the explosion. Toph taught her daughters to be _savage_ , and with Opal missing, Su's not pulling any punches.


	3. External Resources

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh II and Bumi discuss plans to improve the quality of their equites cavalry troops. Bolin arrives safely back at the main legion encampment. Korra hangs with Tenzin's kids after recovering from her injuries. Korra and Opal get closer. Also features a self-indulgent OC cameo. NSFW warning for bathhouse sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology  
>  _tribunus angusticlavius_ : equestrian staff officer involved in carrying out orders from higher officers or assigned to independent command of individual vexillations.  
>  _primus ordines_ : a senior centurion, usually an experienced veteran.  
>  _lorica hamata_ : Roman chainmail armor.  
>  _praefecti_ : equestrian officers, generally in charge of auxiliary cohorts or cavalry units.  
>  _hippodrome_ : racetrack for horses and chariots.  
>  _paegniarii/pagniarius_ : sort of a novelty fighter who put on mock duels to entertain the crowd before and between gladiator matches. Duels might be for comical effect or to showcase an unusual or unorthodox fighting style.  
>  _scutarius_ : a heavy gladiator who typically fought with a large shield and short- or broadsword.  
>  _rudiarius_ : a veteran gladiator who earned their freedom.

“Thank you for the report, Varo, dismissed,” Iroh nodded to his centurion. Varo saluted, turned sharply, and left the tent as Iroh glowered back down at the reports. Though he hadn’t been present for the ambush, as _tribunus angusticlavus_ the attacked vexillation had been under his orders to come to the aid of a beleaguered allied Lusitani tribe near Segovia. Though the legionaries fought off the ambushers and reinforced their ally, losing most of their cavalry and nearly half their slinger auxiliaries in a simple ambush didn’t exactly inspire said allies with confidence in Rome’s protection.

“Thoughts, Bumi?” Iroh asked, turning to his _primus ordines_. A veteran of Pompey’s campaigns in Cappadocia, Syria, and Spain, Bumi had been an invaluable ally and advisor since Iroh’s arrival a year ago.

“Nothing we haven’t encountered before,” Bumi admitted. “I’ve seen it all through my career. I mean, our equites are competent horsemen—great for flanking, scattering light infantry, covering retreats, or pursuing routed enemies. But their horsemanship just doesn’t compare to the Gauls or the Thracians or the Numidians or the Germans or any number of other enemies. It’s why we’ve adapted by employing these same cavalry warriors as auxiliaries. Against Mithridates, Pompey hired Pontic, Syrian, and even Sarmatian cavalry. Here in Spain we’ve brought in Gaul, Iberian, and Numidian horse to supplement our equites.”

“It feels more like the equites are supplementing the auxiliaries, though,” Iroh scowled, waving a hand over the recruitment records. “Barely a quarter of our cavalry are Roman citizens, most of who are regularly outperformed by our allied horse. Why is that, and how can we fix it?”

“So you’re asking how we can go about bringing our citizen cavalry up to snuff with the non-citizen cavalry?” Bumi asked, frowning and crossing his arms over his officer’s cuirass as he thought it over.

“Yes,” Iroh confirmed. “If I assigned you to improve our equites, how would you go about it?”

“Well, I think I’d start small and build up from there,” Bumi decided, after considering. “I think I’d bring in a dozen or so expert horsemen from different parts of the empire and have them each train a squadron of experienced cavalry: Boii, Numidians, Libyans, Lusitani, Suebi, even Thracians or Roxolani, if we can find folks from that far away. But, y’know, I think I’d take it a step further,” he added, as if the thought just occurred to him. “I think I’d have our hired expert _command_ the squadron as well—as in actually ride out on missions with them. It’d give ‘em a chance to get to know the local terrain and learn to adapt their cavalry tactics to different environments.”

“I like it so far, but do you really think our equites will listen to some barbarian civilian who may not even be a Roman citizen?” Iroh asked as he considered.

“Mm, yeah, I see what you mean,” Bumi agreed. “We’ll keep our officers in charge, but let our consultants be second in command. I mean, I think it’ll still be important for them to ride into the field with our cavalry and get to know the local terrain and even fight beside them, if need be.”

“No, you’re right, that definitely makes sense,” Iroh agreed. “From Alexander to Marius, it’s been the axiom that soldiers will fight harder for a leader who shares their dangers and hardships. I think the same will apply to trainers and advisors. Thanks, Bumi.”

“Anytime, Tribunus,” Bumi saluted.

“How soon do you think you can get started recruiting for that?” Iroh asked.

“Wait… _me_?” Bumi frowned.

“Yes, you—it was your idea, and I can’t think of anyone better qualified,” Iroh told him.

“I’ll have to ask around,” Bumi admitted, thinking it over. “And I’ll for sure have to travel around the province,” he added.

“Alright, give me a travel budget by the end of the day, and I’ll make sure you’re covered for those expenses,” Iroh assured him.

“I might want to take two or three legionaries as escorts—or in case I need to shake down or intimidate someone,” Bumi added as well.

“Alright, get me a budget for all that, and I’ll get you the coin and sign the orders,” Iroh nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Bumi saluted as he turned to leave.

* * *

* * *

“Bolin! You’re alright!” came Nemesia’s relieved voice as one of the medics finished checking Bolin’s bandages. “They said your vexillation got hit, so I came to check on you.”

“Hey, Nemesia,” Bolin answered, looking over at her. She looked even more pregnant than when he’d left the camp over a week ago. She balanced little Marcus on her hip as she stepped carefully around a couple of wounded legionaries. An experienced camp-follower, she had a lot of practice at stepping around legionaries. “Yeah, I got a little scratched up, but I’m okay.”

“That’s good,” she smiled, giving him a one-armed hug. He hugged her back with one hand and rubbed his nephew’s head with the other. “Mako’s vexillation marched east a few days ago to help with the new fortifications near Barcino. I know he’d be devastated if he got back and found out something had happened to you.”

“Nope, I’m good,” he assured her, standing up and trying once again not to notice how much taller Nemesia was. “Want me to take him?” he offered, reaching a hand out to Marcus.

“That’d be helpful,” she agreed, handing her son over as they made their way from the physicians’ tent. Marcus let out a brief, squally protest as Bolin held him in both arms. “Oh, hush, you’re fine,” she gently admonished. “You know your Uncle Bo.”

Nemesia was a native Iberian who’d joined the encampment as a camp harlot in order to earn money for her family at the age of fifteen. Despite the money she’d brought in, her shithead, traditionalist grandfather kicked her out a couple years later when she ended up pregnant with a legionary’s baby. As one of the more probable candidates for the baby’s father, Mako offered to take her in and raise the child as his own, despite that there was no way to prove if baby Marcus was really his or not.

Marcus was about a year and a half now, and while Nemesia sometimes still fucked legionaries to get by and provide for their son, she and Mako were reasonably sure the child within her was his. Mako, Nemesia, and Bolin all hoped that the money they’d gotten from that Asami woman would be enough that Nemesia would never have to sleep with anyone but Mako ever again.

All around them legionaries, auxiliaries, workmen, smiths, merchants, harlots, and slaves hurried about their business amid the encampment’s semi-organized bustle. Hammers clanged as smiths crafted new Gallic-style helmets of bronze as well as gladiuses, spearheads, and _lorica hamata_ of Roman and Spanish steel. A dyer and a half-dozen slaves rushed by, arms loaded with recently-dyed legionary tunics in greens, reds, or bleaches. Two wagons loaded with new spears and pilums rolled by in front of them, pulled by Iberian mules. Iliani, a tall busty Gaul camp-tart, smiled and waved to Nemesia as they passed, arm linked with one of the _praefecti_.

In addition to her great tits, Iliani had long, sensual legs and was maybe the most sought-after harlot in the encampment.

“Ah, Legionary Bolin: perfect man for this job,” came the voice of Bumi, their _primus ordines_.

“Ave, Bumi,” Bolin hailed, shifting Marcus to his left arm in order to salute. With Bumi were Alypius and Iacob, Greek and Judean legionaries both born and raised in Rome itself.

“Iacob said you can ride a horse; is that right, Bolin?” Bumi asked, tilting his head toward Iacob.

“Uh, yeah,” Bolin admitted. “I’ve never _owned_ a horse, and only kind of know how to feed and maintain one, but, yeah, I did learn to ride one.”

“Good enough,” Bumi assured him. “And how’s Marcus, these days?” he added, rubbing Marcus’s little head.

Marcus turned away and tucked his head against Bolin’s neck in response.

“So, anyway, Nemesia, you mind if I borrow your baby-daddy’s brother for a week or two?” Bumi added, putting an arm around Nemesia’s shoulders. “I need some legionary escorts who can ride horses, so he’s qualified.”

Nemesia snorted and shrugged as she took Marcus back from Bolin. “I ain’t his keeper,” she shook her head. “Just don’t put me in a position that I have to tell Mako that you got his brother killed, and I don’t really care what you do with him. Love you, Bolin.” She smirked sweetly and bumped her hip against Bolin’s as she headed off on other errands.

“Love you, too, Nemesia,” Bolin rolled his eyes as she walked off with Marcus. “So what’s the assignment that you want legionaries who can ride instead of equites?”

Bumi rolled his eyes in return. “You really think those stuck-up jackasses will willingly take orders from an infantry officer?” he asked as the four of them headed for the barracks. “I’d be better off with three German horse-auxiliaries who don’t speak a lick of Latin or Greek.”

“Good point,” Bolin agreed.

* * *

* * *

“ _Korra_!” came the excited chirping from across the training yard.

“Hey, kids!” Korra laughed, setting her weights down and standing up. Each weight was just a big, lead ball attached to a handle. The ball had its weight etched into the side, though Korra couldn’t read it in the first place. Not that these Roman measurements meant anything to her. The bigger the ball, the heavier it was—what else mattered?

“Oh my gods, it’s so good to see you’re okay, Korra,” Jinora said as all four of Tenzin’s kids rushed up to hug Korra. True to tradition, Korra scooped all four of them up off their feet in a big gladiatrix-sized hug. Jinora was almost too tall for that, but she picked them up anyway.

“We were so worried about you,” Ikki added, arms around Korra’s neck. “We saw you get cut up really bad in your last fight. And Daddy said they were worried that you might _die_ -die, you know, and not just the pretend-die that the _paegniarii_ do!”

“I’m so sorry everyone was worried,” Korra apologized, squeezing them all one more time before setting them down. “Gods, you kids haven’t come to visit in months. You all look so much bigger since last I saw you.”

Jinora was… sixteen or seventeen now, if Korra remembered right, and Ikki was… thirteen? Meelo and Rohan she had even more trouble keeping track of. Korra’s tribe didn’t have a calendar like the Romans did, and tended to instead keep track of the number of winters a person had survived. Korra had survived twenty-three winters so far.

Behind the kids stood a girl about Ikki’s age, with golden-brown hair and pale, freckly complexion.

“You need a hug too, Aria?” Korra asked, opening her arms. Though Aria was deaf and couldn’t hear her, Korra didn’t want her to feel left out. Aria hesitated a moment, then stepped into Korra’s embrace.

None of them knew where Aria came from. Tenzin and Ikki found her in a muddy alleyway in Tarraco, starving and filthy. They’d taken Aria in, cleaned her up, and fed her, making her one of the household servants. Despite Tenzin’s inquiries around the city, they’d found no clues to who she might be or where she might have come from. Aria now helped Pema in the kitchen and around the house, and Pema, Ikki, and Jinora had worked out a bunch of hand-signs with Aria to at least communicate what chores needed done or things they needed help with.

Ikki and Aria immediately became best friends, and Jinora once confided that they even slept snuggled up in the same bed.

“So did your mom bring you to hang out and watch the gladiators, then?” Korra asked, letting Aria go as Meelo and Rohan ran off to watch Ghazan and Jet sparring. Around them other gladiators trained, exercised, or sparred.

“No, we came with Uncle Bumi, in fact,” Jinora told her as Korra went back to lifting her weights.

“Uncle Bumi’s here to try to _buy_ you from Councilman Tarrlok!” Ikki gushed, making Jinora roll her eyes as if a big secret had just been revealed.

“Tell him ‘good luck’ with that,” Korra shrugged, hefting her weights up and down. “Asami’s made six or seven pretty impressive offers to buy me with no luck. Did Bumi say what he wants with me?”

“Something for the legions, that’s all I know,” Jinora shook her head.

Holding hands, Ikki and Aria wandered off to watch gladiatrices exercising while Jinora told Korra about a history she was reading by some Greek guy named Xenophon. It was about an army of mercenary hoplites fighting their way out of the Persian Empire. It actually sounded kind of interesting to Korra, particularly the part where the Greek spearmen broke a charge of scythed chariots.

“I mean, I’ve watched chariot races with Asami down at the hippodrome, and those sons of bitches are _fast_ ,” Korra commented, switching to a heavier weight. “Put a set of spinning scythes on the wheels and you’d chop up or trample everything in your path.”

“It makes me wonder why the legions don’t employ scythed chariots,” Jinora speculated.

“The usefulness of chariots is pretty terrain-dependent,” Bumi explained as he and Tenzin wandered up with three legionaries in tow. “I've seen them in action, and they're deadly as hell when employed properly. But they require pretty level ground to maneuver and handle properly. Hitting even a small rock at high speed can flip the chariot or at least throw the driver. And _any_ amount of mud renders them inoperable. The legions need to be able to adapt quickly to any type of terrain, and so you gotta learn to cut out any type of unit that can’t adapt. Hey, Korra,” he greeted, stepping up and offering his hand.

“Hey, Bumi,” she nodded, setting down her weights and reaching out to clasp his forearm, one fighter to another. “Ikki told me what you were up to,” Korra added. “Any luck dealing with Tarrlok?”

“About as much luck as I told Bumi he’d have when he showed up,” Tenzin shook his head.

“He must just not like me,” Bumi grumped. “I mean, I thought the offer was _plenty_ generous.”

“It’s not just you,” Korra assured him. “Tarrlok’s a controlling shit-heel, and he doesn’t like to relinquish that control. Controlling people is far more important to him than money. Just ask my girlfriend. Hey, I recognize you,” she realized as she looked over at the legionaries following Bumi. “You’re one of the legionaries who jumped into the arena when those thugs attacked me,” she said, stepping around Bumi to offer her hand.

“Oh, uh, yeah, that was me and my brother, Mako,” the legionary told her, clasping her forearm as she clasped his. “I’m Bolin, by the way.”

“Korra,” she smiled in return. “And thanks again for distracting those losers,” she added. “I was pretty sure I wouldn’t make it out of that. So… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Bolin assured her. “Though, your friend Asami gave us some heavy coin purses as thanks—which was nice.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll have to thank Asami properly for helping you guys out next time I see her,” Korra winked. “So what’s a legionary _primus_ want with a gladiatrix?” she asked next, turning back to Bumi.

“You’re not thinking of forming your own bodyguard of gladiators like Sulla or Marius did, are you?” Jinora asked.

“What kind of money do you think I’m making?” Bumi asked, frowning at Jinora. “No, my tribunus asked me to find some… non-Roman horse experts to help train our equites in better cavalry tactics. I remembered Tenzin once mentioning that you’re Scythian, Korra. In Asia I fought beside and against horsemen from Parthia, Cappadocia, Pontus, Syria, Thrace, and Scythia, and the Scythians were way the best riders I ever encountered. When I remembered that, I couldn’t think of anyone more qualified to come and train our lads.”

“That… actually sounds like an amazing opportunity,” Korra admitted as she thought it over. “And I’d definitely rather work around horses than gladiators. Too bad Tarrlok would never agree to it.”

“Yeah, I tried to appeal to his sense of patriotism and even had my legionaries try to intimidate him a little,” Bumi agreed.

“Both of which I could have told you were _terrible_ ideas, Bumi,” Tenzin spoke up. “Firstly, Tarrolk is of Carthaginian descent and lost ancestors during all three of the Punic Wars. Secondly, he has an entire ludus full of gladiators who would happily toss you and your legionaries out on your ears.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t know who I was dealing with,” Bumi admitted. “Anyway, I should probably round up the kids; I promised Pema I’d have them home by lunchtime.” Meelo and Rohan were once again wowing over Ghazan’s muscles. Ikki and Aria laughed and clung to June’s shoulders as she squat-lifted a big, heavy lead weight. “Good to see you, Korra,” Bumi said, patting her shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t get Tarrlok to let you go.”

“See you around, Bumi. And, Bolin,” she added, “thank your brother for me as well.”

“I’ll do that,” he assured her, grasping her forearm again.

“Be sure to tell him that you saw the Thracian Amazon naked. See what he says about that.”

Bolin just chuckled.

* * *

* * *

“Is it weird to say that you look really good, all tired and sweaty?” Opal asked as she washed Korra’s hair in the ludus’s baths. Now that she’d sponged off the excess dirt and olive oil from her training and exercise, Korra wore a light sheen of bathwater across her naked muscles that reflected the bath’s torchlight.

Korra laughed and tilted her head back with that lopsided smile that Opal was falling in love with. “Y’know, I _feel_ really good,” Korra admitted. “I mean, I felt tired and sweaty and kinda gross, but really good at the same time. It feels really good to be all healed and able to work out and train again.”

Opal sat on the edge of the tiled bath as Korra sat with her back against the edge, between Opal’s knees. Korra relaxed in the tits-deep water as Opal combed out the ash and oils she’d used to clean Korra’s hair. Around them other gladiators and slaves cleaned up or fucked after a hot day of training or toils. Tarrlok was apparently very fastidious about his slaves’ cleanliness, though more out of concern for his own tidy image than any real concern for his slaves’ wellbeing. And Opal kind of doubted he showed such concern for the slaves working his fields and vineyard.

From what Opal had heard from the other slaves, the bathwater was piped in from a nearby hot spring that Tarrlok shared rights to with a dozen or so other landowners. She guessed the bathhouse to be maybe sixtyish feet by a hundred or so feet, with the rectangular bath taking up most of the space. The bath was open air like the baths she remembered from Pergamon, but with local slate tiles instead of marble, and without the lovely statues and frescoes of nude bathers.

Across from them, P’li—who was possibly the tallest woman Opal had ever seen—kissed and groped her usual bed-slave, three fingers burrowed deep in the young woman’s cunny. Korra had explained that P’li fought as a _scutarius_ , or shield-fighter, carrying a large rectangular or oval shield that she’d knock enemies around with before cutting them with her short sword.

The middle-aged June was a _rudiarius_ , a “retired” gladiatrix who continued to fight after earning her freedom. Though scarred with plenty of grey in her black hair, she was still fit and muscular, and Korra confided that June could still out-fight or out-fuck most of the other gladiatrices. Opal felt herself chuckle as June tossed a squealing, laughing Gaul slave-girl across one shoulder and carried her from the baths. Opal recalled that this particular slave really enjoyed tickle-sex.

Ming-Hua, meanwhile, was a _paegniarius_ —a novelty fighter who fought mock duels to entertain the crowd before and between gladiator bouts. Apparently born without arms, Ming-Hua fought instead with her feet, using blades built into the toes of her sandals. Another slave girl sat behind her, scrubbing Ming-Hua’s hair with ash and tallow oils.

“About done?” Korra asked, sounding relaxed, rather than impatient.

“Almost,” Opal assured her. “You kind of have a lot of hair to wash.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Korra admitted. “Have so much, I mean. I’d like to keep it closer to my shoulders, rather than down to my ass. But the crowd likes that I have it so stupid-long, so I have to keep it that way. At least with the helmet on, it doesn’t get in my face quite so bad.”

“You’d think they’d want a better view of your back tattoos,” Opal mused.

“I know, right?” Korra agreed.

“There, that should be the last of it,” Opal informed her, running her fingers through Korra’s hair to feel for any more ashy spots.

“You’re sweet to take such good care of me,” Korra teased. With that, Korra turned to her right and reached across herself with her left arm to grab Opal’s right ankle. Before Opal registered what was going on, Korra yanked her into the steamy bathwater. Opal barely had time to squeal as she hit the water, feeling Korra’s right hand take hold of her waist in the same motion.

Opal found herself breathing hard as she realized she was now face to face and breasts to breasts with Korra, straddling her lap. And if Korra spread her legs at all, they’d soon be clitoris to clitoris.

“My turn to take good care of _you_ ,” Korra winked.

Opal closed her eyes as Korra drew her face in and kissed her softly. Though hardly their first kiss, this kiss felt more… meaningful to Opal. It was as if having her body healed had washed away that inhibition—had removed everything that restrained Korra from sharing herself completely with Opal. As she felt Korra’s tongue enter her mouth, Opal knew that Korra was about to both give everything to Opal and was about to take her for all she was worth.

Opal felt herself groan at the thought as their tongues swirled together.

Korra laughed as she pulled away from the kiss, tongue brushing Opal’s upper lip on its way out. “That sounded like a noise of approval,” Korra chuckled.

“I’m so ready for this,” Opal admitted, sighing a bit as they kissed each other’s necks and squeezed each other’s boobs. Wet hands kneaded wet boobs as they played with each other. Opal was a bit surprised at how pliable Korra’s breasts were, considering how strong and solid the rest of her body was. “You’ve been so amazing in the almost two weeks we’ve been together. I’m still scared and homesick, but you’re helping me realize that maybe things will be okay anyway. Thank you so much, Korra.”

Korra slid a hand up to stroke Opal’s cheek before leaning in to kiss her again. Their lips moved together as Opal felt Korra’s arms wrap her up in a tight embrace, crushing their boobs together and deepening the kiss. Korra migrated her kisses from Opal’s lips to cheek, then from cheek to neck, then from neck to shoulder and shoulder to collarbone.

Opal inhaled and closed her eyes as Korra kissed down one breast to suck on a nipple. Sucking a bit more boob into her mouth, Korra slid her tongue across the nipple and areola, gently holding it in place with her teeth. Sighing at the intensity, Opal clutched Korra’s head to her breast, as if Opal could physically compel someone with Korra’s barbarian strength to do _anything_.

Korra sucked and licked one breast, keeping Opal gasping for several long moments before switching to the other. Korra cupped and stroked the side of her breast as she sucked, gently scraping her teeth across the more sensitive places. Opal felt herself writhe and shudder involuntarily at the wonderful sensations coursing through her.

“Wow, you have sensitive boobs,” Korra commented as Opal’s breast flopped from her mouth.

“Ah, _gods_ …” Opal groaned as Korra buried her face in Opal’s cleavage. Opal groaned as Korra went back to kissing and play-biting at her chest and breasts.

Enthralled at Korra’s attention to her breasts, Opal found herself startled as Korra spread her legs, gripped Opal’s hips, and thrust their cunnies together.

“ _Oh my gods!_ ” Opal screamed as her folds and clitoris slid along Korra’s folds and clitoris.

Still straddling Korra’s lap, Opal clutched Korra’s shoulders and started slowly rocking her hips to grind their womanhoods together. She closed her eyes and kissed Korra passionately, sliding a hand up to clutch the back of Korra’s head. Their tongues collided as they went for each other’s mouths at the same time. Opal felt Korra chuckle as her tongue retreated to make room for Opal’s. Their tongues danced and dueled in Korra’s mouth for several moments before Opal had to pull away for air.

“Mm, you’ve really got that hip action down, girl,” Korra laughed. “Banna said you two had been practicing,” she commented, referring to the Celtiberian slave woman who’d agreed to help Opal practice her tribadism.

“Thanks,” Opal smiled. “You’ve been so amazing since we’ve been together, and, now that you’re all healed up, I really wanted to return the favor.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Korra assured her, their breasts brushing as Opal thrust her hips forward. They both shuddered as their clitorises touched. “She said you even screamed my name while coming,” Korra added, making Opal blush.

Opal took a deep breath and picked up her pace. Looking down between them, she watched their cunnies grind together as they fucked beneath the water. Folds traveled across and between folds as Opal thrust again and again. Opal gasped as their wet folds touched, even as Korra shivered beneath her. Rolling her hips forward, Opal felt herself thrusting harder and harder, feeling Korra thrust back against her.

Clutching Korra’s breasts, Opal ground against her beloved gladiatrix, moaning at the wet friction between them and the water splashing around them as they fucked. She ground their cunts the length of each other, their clitorises sliding between folds and eliciting gasps and moans each time they contacted. Part of Opal couldn’t believe this was finally happening. She was having passionate, intimate, cunny-grinding lap-sex with a mighty and dangerous gladiatrix—a tattooed, barbarian murderess known for her savagery and ruthlessness in the arena. And, _gods_ , was it hot.

“Oh my gods, Ko-RRA!” Opal moaned, grinding again and again in the steamy bathwater. Arms trembling more and more, she gripped Korra’s breasts harder in effort to steady herself. “ _Oh my gods!_ ” she repeated, nearly screaming as her entire body shuddered. “Gods, gods, gods, gods,” Opal whimpered, eyes closed as she felt herself gush, a murky warmth mixing with the bathwater. Korra laughed and gripped Opal’s hips, thrusting back harder to help their climax along.

Though still aroused, Opal felt her thrusts get slower and shakier as she rode out their climaxes. Steadying Opal’s hips with both hands, Korra took a firm hold and continued to thrust their folds together. Unable to contain it any longer, Opal felt her abdomen convulse as she climaxed. She fell forward, her chin on Korra’s shoulder, clutching Korra’s arms with trembling hands. Korra kept grinding against her, forcing the release.

Korra shuddered beneath her, finishing her climax a few seconds after Opal. They sat together in the bathwater for long moments, breathing hard and enjoying the feel of their arms around each other, their chins on each other’s shoulders, and their bodies pressed together. A few of the gladiators still present applauded their performance.

“That felt beautiful, Opal, thanks,” Korra murmured, reaching up to stroke Opal’s hair.

“It felt beautiful on this end, too,” Opal admitted, her breaths evening out as the trembling began to subside. “Do… do you want to do it again?”

“The night’s still young,” Korra smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Hey folks, sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter. I'd intended for events in this chapter to coincide with events from Caesar's opening campaign against Pompey's forces in Italy. Unfortunately, the timeline doesn't match up to what I had in mind. So I ended up having to toss out at least one scene and revise everything else I had in mind for this chapter. As a result, the stuff with Caesar's armies will come later in the story, and I'm going to have to add a lengthy time-skip here in a few chapters. So we'll see how it works out. To make it up to readers, I commissioned a lovely fan art of Korra from my artist friend [Chenria](http://chenria.tumblr.com/post/182586594186/this-was-a-fun-commission-to-work-on-scythian). Check it out at the beginning of Chapter 1!
> 
> Nemesia's backstory is a tragically common one whenever occupying armies mixed with locals, and at pretty much any point in all of history. Local families frequently sent their daughters to legionary camps to earn money for the family by servicing the occupying soldiers. Grossly too often, many of these young women ended up ostracized by their families after ending up pregnant because of this. Nemesia is fairly lucky, then, that she's found a decent Roman to take her in, despite that she can't prove the child is his. The Roman legions are something of an anomaly, historically, in that a pretty high percentage of their soldiers were okay with settling down with local women who they'd then marry once their service to the legions had ended. 
> 
> Another item I'd like to clear up based on some of the previous comments is that women entertainers throughout much of history were usually also sex workers. Dancers, singers, storytellers, actresses, and gladiatrices, whether slaves or freewomen, were also expected to offer sex as part of their services. This means that, yes, in this story Korra is technically also a prostitute whenever Tarrlok requires it of her. It's something I should have cleared up sooner, but I'm really bad about taking for granted what other people may or may not know about history. (Don't be afraid to ask questions or clarifications about any of this history, folks! I love getting the chance to talk about this kind of stuff!)
> 
> From what I've found in my research, lesbian sex during Roman times seems to have consisted primarily of tribadism. Penetration with fingers or phallic toys was not uncommon, but bumping and grinding each other seems to have been the most common sex act between women. Oral, on the other hand, was heavily frowned upon for hygiene reasons, as genitalia were much harder to keep clean during ancient times. People who partook in oral sex frequently ended up with pretty gnarly diseases of the mouth as a result. My main source for Roman women's sexuality was Paul Chrystal's _Women in Ancient Rome_. 
> 
> Lastly, those of you who also read my Korrasami Small Town AU, "Lesbian Cover Songs" will also recognize Ikki's girlfriend Aria from that story. That was pretty much just a self-indulgent cameo on my part. As always, thanks so much for reading, folks! Any feedback is always welcome!


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